Tied Bond (Holly Woods Files, #4) (22 page)

I think that’s a compliment.
Think.

Drake blows out a long breath and rubs his hand down his face. Slowly, he comes to the table and sits down, his shoulders slumped forward. “I don’t even know what to say. Were you ever gonna tell me?” He directs this question to me by looking at me.

“Your mom asked me not to,” I say quietly. “She wanted to keep it a secret because I was so reluctant. I did promise you I wouldn’t get involved, but it was either she got arrested and you got hurt or I helped her not get arrested in secret and you got hurt. There wasn’t a way you didn’t get hurt.”

“I’m not hurt,” he mutters, rubbing his hands through his hair. “I’m pissed, Noelle. Not gonna lie. Even if she asked you to keep it secret, you shoulda told me. Shoulda talked to me about it. Every other time you’ve gotten yourself into a damn murder investigation, your life has been at risk.”

“I know... And that’s why I didn’t want to tell you.” I take the seat next to him, ignoring the boiling water in the background. “I just wanted to try to fix all of this.” I wave my arm around and let out a heavy breath. “I don’t even care who did it. I just wanted to prove that your mom didn’t. I wanted to make all of this crap better so we could move on. Except then I got lumped with my batshit crazy nonna and a family feud because Mom and Nonna hate each other, and Trent and I are fighting, and Brody is onto me, and I don’t even think Dev knows what’s happening. But everything spiraled into a giant tornado of bullshit, and it got scarier and scarier to tell you although the guy died less than a week ago. I just don’t want your mom to go to jail for something I don’t believe she did, and this was the only way I knew to help make that happen.”

Silence hovers through the room for a long moment. It’s like a swirling cloud of unsaid words and indecision, and I feel sick about what he’s going to say next. I just totally rambled at him, and it’ll be a miracle if he understands a word I just said.

“I’m not mad at you, sweetheart.” Drake’s words cut through it. “I promised you I wouldn’t be. I’m mad at the situation. I’m mad Mom made you need to keep it a secret. You were torn between her request and your promise to me, and I understand why you did what you did. And, if you have to be involved... Well, proving someone isn’t a killer is marginally safer than proving that someone is, I suppose.”

I still. “Really? You’re not mad at me?”

“No. You’re a meddling, nosy pain in the fuckin’ ass, but you’re not stupid. And, now, I know why you went to the viewing today.”

My eye twitches. “I did kinda go to support your mom. I also happened to go to ask people a bunch of questions.”

“Trent was fuming, by the way,” Jason butts in. “He came back and I was waiting for him to start breathing fire. He’s certain you’re in the way of his investigation and getting involved.”

“I can’t be in his investigation. I’m in my own.”

“You told me that when you found Lena’s body in your Dumpster,” Drake points out, finally a smile tugging at his lips. “You were lying then too.”

“I wasn’t...lying. Our investigations just happened to cross over.” I’m sticking to that too. “But, this time, they can’t. It looks like the only DNA evidence the Holly Woods PD is getting and using implicates your mom. I think it’s coincidental. I think there’s something else out there. Someone deliberately killed Wally, and until they start looking outside the little investigative bubble they’ve made, they’re not going to get anything else out of this.”

“What do you know?” Drake’s eyes narrow.

Jason leans forward.

“Not much,” I admit before getting my wine glass, turning the stove off, and going to the fridge. I pull the bottle out, and as I pour, say, “I spoke with Kat Thornton, his daughter, and she wasn’t much help. She just said that Wally stepped on some toes as he did business. It’s not a lead, but it’s not a dead end, either.”

“So, what are you gonna do?” Jason asks. “You know anything about the business?”

“Fortunately.” I grin, replacing the bottle. “The Internet is easier to get information from. Carlton found me the business name and address within seconds of me asking. I’m thinking that maybe driving to Houston to get some information from people who work there is a good idea He only handed it over two years ago. You don’t know who might know what.”

“I’m coming with you.” Drake’s chair squeaks as he gets up for his beer.

I hand one to Jason, finally, and he thanks me with a nod.

“I’m gonna go fuckin’ insane being cooped up in my house,” Drake continues.

“I was actually hoping you’d both come.” I hesitate. “I have a private investigator badge, but that doesn’t mean anyone has to talk to me. Or tell me as much as they would—”

“A homicide detective or an FBI agent,” Jason drawls, amusement tinging every word. He has a big smile on his face.

Even Drake looks mildly amused.

“Well... Yeah.” I sigh, caught out. “Can’t lie about my reasoning.”

“You’re using us.”

“Feels like it,” Drake adds. “Are you using us?”

“Absolutely. Do you know how helpful you’re gonna be?” I smile innocently behind my glass. “Please? Pretty, pretty please with cherries on top?”

They don’t say a word, but they don’t need to. Their shared glance says everything.

Bingo.

I just got me a pair of law enforcement agents to wrangle information out of people.

I love it when the universe works with me.

“Can you feed me now? I’m hungry.” Drake cracks a tub of marinara sauce open and sniffs it. “Nonna is goddess, I swear. Why can’t you cook like this?”

I gasp. “I can. I just choose not to. Do you know how time consuming it is to bind the ground meat, roll the meatballs, then stuff them with cheese and herbs and garlic? It takes, like, an hour to do twelve. Nonna only does it because it’s therapy for her and she’s still pissed at Mom.”

“They fight a lot, right?” Jason asks, sitting down. “But that does smell real good.”

I roll my eyes and turn the stove back on. “Yes. A lot. The reason I’ve temporarily adopted Nonna is because she and Mom got into such an intense fight that the wooden spoon got a break and Nonna pointed a knife at her instead.”

“She did what?”

“Pointed a knife at her,” I repeat casually, carefully depositing the pasta into the hot water. “Big one too.”

“Should she not be more worried about that?” he asks Drake.

“You’d think, but it’s a scarily common occurrence in the Bond household. Usually, it is just a small one, admittedly,” Drake responds.

“Yeah, but they were really going at it.” I slowly cook the meatballs. “I was a little scared. So, yeah. I got myself a pet nonna who’s been cooking eight hours a day, and Mom gets peace. And the parrot. Over my dead body was I taking that vile little cretin.”

Jason laughs. “I don’t blame you. I’ve met it once and it scared the shit outta me.”

“That’s because the thing is inhuman. Don’t believe my grandmother when she says he’s cool. He’s as cool as walking through the park and getting shit on your shoe.” I pour the sauce into the pan with the meatballs. I don’t even need to add anything because I know that Nonna seasoned it to perfection. She always does.

The guys settle into a conversation about football—mostly debating the current season and the standings and injuries and, honestly, a bunch of shit I couldn’t care less about. My Fucks To Give cup is empty where football is concerned.

I cook happily while they talk. When I’ve served everything up, they eat everything in seconds, and after finishing his beer, Jason leaves with a promise to get as much information about Gianna’s interview as he can. The necessary mention leaves a dark cloud hanging over the brighter atmosphere, but it is, after all, important.

When he’s gone, I lock the door and drop onto the sofa with Drake. Tension is tight between us, and although he said that he wasn’t mad at me, I know he is. I can feel it. I’d rather he just yell at me and get it over with the way he couldn’t with Jason around.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” I quietly ask him as I hug my knees to my chest.

“No,” he sighs. “I’m... I don’t know what I am, sweetheart. I’m annoyed Mom would want to keep it from me, but I’m more annoyed that you felt like you had to because of your promises to me.” He grabs my arms and pulls me forward so I’m sitting on his lap and his arms are locked around my waist. “I thought we were past keeping secrets.”

“We were. We are.” I cup his face with my hands, slowly running my thumbs across his cheeks. “You’re just so hurt about the whole thing. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ve felt awful about it ever since Sunday. It’s been the worst feeling in the world.”

“Listen to me.” His voice is raspy, and his grip on me tightens. “I don’t control you, Noelle. You don’t have to keep every promise you make, especially if they’re like this. This is one I didn’t expect you to keep, I’m gonna be honest. I’m surprised you tried. You have the most inquisitive mind, and your compassionate nature means you’re a fixer. You need to make everything right.”

“And those qualities have gotten me in danger before. I didn’t want you to be scared that I’d be putting myself in those situations again.”

He rests his hand on the side of my face. “
Bella
, I’m always scared you’ll be in those situations. I’m scared that, one day, some crazy husband or wife will come after you for catching them cheating or a missing kid’s kidnapper will take you too. I’m always scared for you. That’s my job. I’d be a shit partner to you if I weren’t scared for your safety. And that’s it—I’m your partner, sweetheart. Don’t hide shit from me just because you think it’ll hurt me. I wanna know. I wanna know everything you do because it matters to me.”

“I know.” I turn my face toward his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m scared to hurt you though. That’s the problem.”

He curves his hand around the back of my head and pulls me down to kiss me. It’s long and slow, easy and deep, but it reinforces everything he just said.

“I love you,” I whisper against his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“I love you too,” he whispers back. “And don’t be sorry, because you didn’t do anything wrong. Yet, at least. It’s still early days, and you always fuck up at least once in an investigation.”

“Right, but think about it this way: Now, you’re going to be with me every second, so there’s less chance of a fuck-up!” I grin and lean back. “Silver lining?”

He stares at me, but he can’t fight the upturn of his lips. “Sure. Silver lining, you crazy woman.”

“Sure is. And, now, ice cream.” I jump off him before he can say a word. Then I run into the kitchen toward the freezer. I grab the tub and two spoons before sitting back next to him on the sofa. “Nonna’s ice cream is my favorite in the world. Just don’t tell her that. Fuck knows it’d only go to her head, and her ego is big enough.”

Drake laughs. The deep, rich sound floods through my body, warming me and bringing me back to a state of happiness that’s been missing all day.

“I know.” He takes the tub and shoves his spoon in before pulling a giant hunk of vanilla ice cream out. He moans when he puts it in his mouth. “Why can’t you make ice cream like Nonna?”

“I can make it disappear. That’s close enough.” I punctuate my point by putting my own spoonful into my mouth and licking the spoon clean.

His eyes flash as he watches my tongue dart across the back of it, but he looks down and takes another chunk of it. “Learn to. Otherwise, I might just have to make her ego grow with my requests for it.”

I shudder at the thought. “Don’t scare me that way.”

He grins.

Bastard.

I
just remembered why I hate road-tripping with Drake.

Early mornings are his nemesis, and he’s about as tolerable for any hour before seven a.m. as I am for spiders in my bathtub.

Needless to say, the six-a.m. wake-up call was hardly the brightest part of his paid leave. He’s made it known too. There was the beg for coffee, for which I brought three cups, and then the grumble that the “sun’s barely fuckin’ up” and a two-hour nap.

Ahh, I love that morning-hating man.

Now, though, we’re in Houston. Last time we were here, he drove, and the only reason I let him was because he was agreeing to cupcakes. Ah... How things change. This time, I’m driving, and he doesn’t have a choice but to get cupcakes because, hello, I’m driving, and he’s been snoring for the last hour.

Men. Honestly.

Going to Cotton’s Classic Cars is something that I know needs to be done. Yet again, though, it’s something I don’t want to do. Yet here I am... Doing it.

I navigate Houston’s roads and streets until we get downtown and the GPS has us only minutes from the car shop. “Hey,” I say, prodding Drake’s thigh with two fingers. “We’re almost there.”

“Jason still following us?” he asks in a sleepy voice, looking back between our seats.

“He’s been following us and even got your snoring on the phone when he got a little lost.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Do I sound like it? I’ve been listening to the Loch Ness Monster on an earthquake mission for hours now.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles. “You woke me up early. I snore when I’m tired.”